


for a minute there, i thought you were twice as tall as me

by cherrysalad



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Unhealthy Relationships, please read the notes at the beginning for more of an explanation/trigger warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 12:52:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrysalad/pseuds/cherrysalad
Summary: It makes his body feel so tense that it might snap like a rubber band stretched too far. It makes his head feel like it’s unraveling.





	for a minute there, i thought you were twice as tall as me

**Author's Note:**

> alright so trigger warnings: for relationships between an adult and a 16 year old & almost sexual assault (like sexual assault that’s avoided)
> 
> not 2 get into personal shit but idk i wrote this 2 work through some stuff that happened to me recently and explore my feelings about the whole thing

Ryan wakes up before sunrise and thinks of cigarettes first thing. He’d run out the night before, reluctantly given Brendon the last one even though he doesn’t smoke. Ryan digs his wallet out of his sock drawer and steps quietly across his floor, careful to avoid any creaky boards. Brendon still hears him of course, he stirs in his sleep and his eyelids flutter open. 

“Where are you going?” He whispers. Ryan sighs. 

“Just to the corner store,” he answers. He’s hasn’t had any privacy since Brendon started staying with him. Brendon scrambles up off the floor.

“Can I come?” He asks, his big dark eyes glinting in the low light. 

“Sure,” Ryan shrugs, sliding his hands into his hoodie pockets and lowering his eyes to the floor. Brendon quickly puts on his beat up sneakers and follows Ryan downstairs. He knows by now not to make a sound or he’ll risk waking up Ryan’s father, but as soon as they’re outside he starts in. 

“What’re you buying?” He asks as the make their way down the quiet street. 

“Cigarettes,” Ryan answers shortly. 

“Oh,” Brendon nods. “Can I have some?” 

“Buy your own, I can’t afford to fund two nicotine addictions,” he says. Brendon frowns. 

“Well I can’t afford even one,” he says sadly. Ryan glances at him and laughs suddenly, he reaches over and pats Brendon’s head. 

“Good. Smoking is bad for you,” he says. “It’s too late for me, but you shouldn’t pick the habit up.” They step into the corner store, a bell rings over their heads. It smells cold and sweet and stale like old ice cream. The freezers hum. 

“Buy me candy then, if you’re not going to let me have any of your cigarettes, I need something to put in my mouth,” he says. Ryan stifles a laugh into his hand and rolls his eyes affectionately. 

“Fine,” he says. “You need to get a job though. I’m not going to keep buying you shit.”

“Of course you are,” Brendon says. “You’re my sugar daddy, it’s your job.” Ryan giggles. 

“I’m your sugar daddy now?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow. “Kind of a raw deal for me isn’t it? Seeing that I’m not getting sex out of it.” 

“You’re getting my excellent company. You’ve got to invest a little more in me if you want me to sleep with you. I’m not cheap, Ross.” He grins. 

“Hm, that’s not what I’ve heard.” Brendon swats his arm. 

“Shut up,” he laughs. 

“Fine, fine, go pick out your candy.” Brendon does as he’s told and Ryan approaches the counter, the cashier looks young. Probably twenties with dark hair and a tank top that reveals two full sleeves of tattoos. 

“Can I get a pack of Marlboro reds?” Ryan asks, trying to sound confident enough that the cashier will ignore his baby face. Some employees ask for his ID and some don’t, he knows pretty well by now who will sell to him, but he doesn’t recognize this man. 

“You don’t look eighteen,” the guy says, eyeing him carefully. Ryan shrugs noncommittally. 

“I like your tattoos,” he says in some desperate attempt to get the guy to sell him the cigarettes. The guy only laughs. 

“Seriously? Think you can flatter me into breaking the law?” 

“Worth a shot,” Ryan says. “C’mon man, you know I’ll just get them somewhere else if you don’t.” 

“Fine,” the man shakes his head, he reaches for the cigarettes and hands them to Ryan. Ryan gives him a crumpled ten dollar bill in exchange. “I’m keeping the change.” The man says decisively. 

“Fair enough.” He feels something press up behind him and realizes it’s Brendon before he has the chance to be startled. “Hi.” Ryan says. 

“I got circus peanuts,” Brendon tells him. 

“Are you kidding me? I’m not buying you circus peanuts, go pick out a respectable candy.” Ryan says. 

“It’s my candy,” Brendon huffs. 

“I’m not buying you circus peanuts, it’s an issue of principle, besides I know you just picked them out because I hate them and you like to bother me.” 

“Fine,” Brendon says before slinking off back to the candy aisle. 

“That your boyfriend?” The cashier asks. 

“He wishes,” Ryan grumbles. 

“You’re out of his league.” The guy says, nodding. Ryan snorts. He’d never thought of himself as out of anyone’s league. Or really, in any kind of league. 

“Does this meet the standards of the candy police?” Brendon asks from behind him, Ryan turns to see him holding up a package of skittles. 

“Barely,” Ryan says. He pays for his friend’s candy and they leave the store. 

“Have a nice day!” The cashier calls as they make their way to the door. Ryan looks back and smiles politely. 

“Thanks, you too.” Outside the sun has started to rise, filling the sky with pale light. It’s probably going to get hot soon. “Let’s go out to the tracks until my dad’s left for work.” Brendon nods. The tracks aren’t really tracks anymore, they were removed back in the eighties and now it’s just a dirt walking path through some scrubby woods out in back of Ryan’s neighborhood, but the name remains. 

They walk a short ways down and then clamor up some big rocks off to the side in the woods, they’re not that high up but the trees provide a decent shield from any nosy suburban mothers that might be going for an early morning run. Ryan has come to think of it reflexively as their spot, which he knows is silly. Judging from the sheer amount of crushed beer cans and junk food packaging littered on the ground, every kid in the neighborhood comes here. 

Ryan sits where he can still see the path and digs his lighter out of his pocket, he flicks it three times and the wavering flame lights the cigarette. He takes a drag and closes his eyes. He feels at peace, calm and unburdened. Brendon sidles up to him, resting his head on his shoulder and Ryan hesitates a minute before putting an arm around him. 

“Let me have a drag, at least,” Brendon mutters into Ryan’s shoulder. 

“Eat your candy, Bren,” Ryan says. He doesn’t understand why he feels so protective of Brendon sometimes, he’s less than a year younger and it’s not like Brendon is exactly inexperienced in any sense of the word. It’s probably because Brendon is kind of an impulsive moron who needs someone looking out for him. Ryan just feels like its his responsibility now that they pretty much live together. 

He started crashing at Ryan’s in May, right before school ended. Things were bad at home for Brendon ever since his deeply religious parents had found out he wasn’t straight, when they started talking about conversion therapy he packed his shit up and showed up on Ryan’s doorstep. 

It’s been a few months now, Ryan doesn’t know if it will last through the coming school year, his dad has been oblivious and apathetic enough to let it go on for this long, but the man is unpredictable to say the least. 

He doesn’t know where else Brendon would go, but he supposes they’ll cross that bridge if they come to it. 

He hears Brendon tear open the plastic packaging of the candy and turns to watch him shove a handful of skittles into his mouth. Ryan snubs his half finished cigarette into the ground. 

...

The hottest day of the year comes on a Tuesday in early July, almost one hundred degrees. Ryan and Brendon spend it lying on the kitchen floor sucking on ice cubes, fan on full blast, listening through every Blink-182 album. 

“I want ice cream,” Brendon says around noon. It’s not the first time he’s said it that day, but it’s the first time Ryan has considered giving in. He sighs, walking down to the corner store in the skin melting heat doesn’t sound exactly fun, but he decides it’s worth it. 

“Fine,” Ryan tells him. “I’ll get you your damn ice cream.” He struggles to get himself up off the floor. 

“You’re my favorite person in the entire world,” Brendon tells him gratefully. 

“We both know I already was,” Ryan says.

“Yeah,” Brendon says, smiling dazedly up at him. “You were.” Ryan pushes himself up, slides on a pair of worn in plastic flip flops and slowly makes his way down the street. There are hazy heatwaves rising visibly from the pavement. 

Ryan steps into the convenience store and the cool air hits his skin, soothing him. He heads towards the back and picks out rocky road, Brendon’s favorite flavor is mint chocolate chip, but there’s no way he’s eating that. He’s surprised to see the tattooed cashier behind the register when he goes to pay. 

“No cigarettes?” The man asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Trying to cut back,” Ryan mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. It’s an expensive habit, so he’s been trying to exercise some self control and smoke his cigarettes sparingly.

“That’s smart,” the guy says. “It’s not good for you, you know.” 

“Oh really? I wasn’t aware,” Ryan says, rolling his eyes. The guy only laughs, shakes his head and scans Ryan’s ice cream. 

“What’s your name?” He asks out of the blue before handing it back to him.

“Ryan. Why?” 

“Because I like you, you’re funny,” the man says frankly. “I’m Pete. See you around, Ryan.” He hands him his ice cream back. 

“Uh, you-you too.” Ryan walks home, the cold container of ice cream hugged to his chest, his heart stammering nervously. 

He takes the porch steps two at a time and lets the door slam shut behind him. 

“Brendon?” He calls into the house. He doesn’t answer, but Ryan finds him lying in the same place on the kitchen floor, humming along to the Blink-182 song. 

“What kind did you get?” He asks. 

“Rocky road,” Ryan says absently. He takes two spoons from the silverware drawer, but doesn’t bother with bowls. They sit on the floor and eat ice cream straight out of the carton. 

…

That Friday Ryan gets a text from his friend Gabe. 

gabe: hey want to come see a show with me tonight, none of my friends can make it :(

Ryan snorts, Gabe is tactful as always. He guesses it could be fun to get out. He types out a reply saying that he’ll go. 

“I’m going to a show with Gabe tonight,” he says to Brendon, who’s sitting on floor of his bedroom, fiddling with his guitar. Ryan used to refuse to let Brendon touch his guitar, but he’s stopped being so uptight about it. Brendon is an idiot, but he knows how important Ryan’s guitar is to him. Ryan can see how carefully he treats it. 

“Can I come?” 

“Probably not,” he says. Gabe doesn’t really like Brendon. 

“You’re really gonna leave me all alone here with your dad?” Ryan hadn’t really considered that Brendon would alone in the house with his father. 

“Can’t you hang out at Jon or Spencer’s until I get home?” Ryan suggests. Brendon sighs melodramatically.

“Alright, you don’t love me, I get it,” he says. Ryan feels guilt searing in his chest, corroding his rib cage.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. 

“I’m only kidding, Ry,” Brendon says softly. The guilt eases a little. 

Gabe is supposed to pick him up at eight, but in his typical fashion ends up being half an hour late. He pulls up in his rusted car, rolls down the window and shouts so loud Ryan’s sure his father can hear from inside the house. 

“Ryan Ross!” 

Ryan rushes down the porch steps before his dad can come out of the house and see what’s happening, thankfully as soon as Ryan slides into the passenger seat Gabe peels away from the curb and drives off. 

“You’re a dick,” Ryan mutters. 

“Yeah,” Gabe cackles. 

“What shitty band are we going to see?” Ryan asks.

“They’re called fucking... Fall Out Boys or something,” he says. “They’re actually pretty good, though.” 

“Uh huh, somehow I don’t trust your taste in music,” Ryan says. 

“Oh fuck off,” Gabe laughs. “You listen to counting crows.” 

The show ends up being at some seedy bar downtown. 

“Sure we can get in?” Ryan asks nervously. 

“Don’t worry about it, I know the bouncer,” Gabe reassures him. Ryan’s still skeptical, but they get in without any trouble. It’s a grubby place and the crowd is about equal parts aging punks and kids who must either be underage or just barely twenty one. 

Gabe buys a drink and Ryan doesn’t. He stands with his arms crossed awkwardly over his chest while Gabe talks to some guy with ugly white glasses. Then the band comes out onto the raised platform that functions as a stage and Ryan’s heart seizes. Pete the cashier is standing there, holding a bass. 

Ryan watches him breathlessly, eyes wide as he and the rest of his band focus on setting up. He feels claustrophobic all of a sudden. Gabe slings an arm over his shoulder, startling him out of his thoughts. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Ry,” he says. “You alright?” Ryan stares at Gabe for a minute dazedly, then he nod.

“Uh,” he says. “I know the bassist. Sort of.” 

“Weird. How?” 

“He’s a cashier at the convenience store near my house,” Ryan says, it sounds stupid when he says it out loud. Gabe snorts. 

“That’s not ‘knowing him’, Ryan,” he says. 

“Yeah...I know,” Ryan mutters. He hesitates, if he says it and it isn’t true he’s going to end up looking like an idiot. “It’s just that... I think he’s been flirting with me.” 

“Shit, really?” Ryan can see Gabe eyeing him up. “Not bad, Ross. You into him?” Ryan shrugs. 

“He’s older,” he says. 

“Who cares? You’re like,  
seventeen right?” 

“Next month,” Ryan says.

“Whatever, you’re basically an adult, I’ve slept with people way older than that bassist.”

”That’s because ou’re a slut.” 

“Don’t shame me, Ryan Ross,” Gabe says. “I’m just saying... if you’re into him you should go for it.”

“I don’t think so,” Ryan says, the last two words are drowned out when the lead singer, a quiet dude with a bad haircut starts speaking into the mic. 

“Uh, hi, we’re Fall Out Boy, thanks for coming,” and then they launch directly into a song. Gabe wasn’t wrong, they’re actually good and the lead singer’s voice is startlingly powerful. 

Ryan gets so into the music that he manages to shove thoughts of Pete from his brain, even as he plays right in front of him. Sweat beading on his skin, brow furrowed in concentration. 

Gabe leaves him alone at one point to go chat up the same guy with the white glasses and he doesn’t come back for the rest of the show. Finally, after it’s over and the lead singer has awkwardly thanked everyone for coming Gabe comes up behind him. 

“Listen, can you get a ride home with the bassist guy?” He asks. 

“Gabe, are you kidding me?” Ryan scowls and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I think Mikey‘s gonna sleep with me tonight if I play my cards right,” he says. 

“You’re leaving me stranded at some seedy bar for some guy with ugly glasses?” Ryan says. 

“Uh,” Gabe says “Yeah?” 

“Fuck off, Gabe,” Ryan grumbles.

“Thanks Ry! You’re the best.” He grins, flashes Ryan two thumbs up and slinks off into the crowd. 

“I hate you!” He shouts after his friend. Ryan feels something touch his shoulder and whips around to see Pete standing there. 

“You stalking me or something?” Pete asks, a playful glint in his eyes. 

“No!” Ryan says, face flushing. “My friend invited me to the show, I didn’t know you were in the band.” 

“Relax, I didn’t actually think you were stalking me. It’s a small town,” Pete reassures him. “What are you doing now?” 

“Well I was gonna get a ride home with my friend, but he ditched me,” Ryan mutters. 

“That’s rough,” Pete mutters. “You want me to give you a ride?” 

“Uh,” Ryan says nervously. “Yeah. Yeah sure.” Pete leads him out to his car, which is even older and more severely beaten up than Gabe’s. 

“Excuse the mess,” he says as Ryan climbs into the passenger’s seat. There is quite a bit of garbage on the floor, but he’s used to it. All of his friends are disgusting, he’s kind of disgusting. 

“It’s fine,” he says, shutting the car door. His heart is beating in his throat and he feels sick with fear all of a sudden. He doesn’t know a thing about Pete. Pete could be taking him somewhere to torture and kill him and Ryan would be helpless. He’s trapped at this point. 

“What’s your address?” Pete asks, snapping him out of his thoughts at least momentarily. Ryan tells him with a shaky voice. Pete starts driving and once Ryan realizes they’re on a familiar route home he feels his breathing return to normal, his panic slowly dissolves. 

“What did you think of the show?” Pete asks, like he’s really just curious. Like he doesn’t need Ryan’s validation at all.

“It was good,” Ryan said eagerly. “Most local bands I’ve seen are shit... but you guys were... something special.”

“Thanks,” Pete says nodding. He glances over at him, tearing his eyes off the road for a brief moment. “How old are you?” 

“Seventeen,” Ryan lies, he supposes it’s close enough to the truth. 

“What are you doing hanging out in filthy dive bars?” He asks.

“What were you doing at my age?” Ryan snaps. “Studying?” Pete snorts. “I’ll do what I want.” 

“Alright,” Pete says. “Sorry.” 

“You can’t be much older than that anyway,” Ryan says indignantly. 

“I’m twenty-five,” he tells Ryan. Ryan stares at him a minute. 

“Oh,” he says quietly, glancing out the window. Pete laughs quietly. 

They turn down Ryan’s street and Ryan has his hand on the door before they’ve even parked. 

“Wait,” Pete says as he pushes it open. Ryan pauses and turns back to him. 

“Yeah?” 

“I like you Ryan, you’re funny,” he says. Ryan feels something he can’t put his finger on wash over him, a powerful wall of water, crashing over his head and dragging him out to sea. Rocks and rough sand scrape his skin. “Can I have your number?” 

“Uh,” Ryan swallows, mouth and throat full of saltwater. “Yeah?” Pete hands him a beat up flip phone and with shaking hands he programs his number in. 

“Thanks,” Pete says. Ryan nods as he’s getting out of the car. He slams the door shut and Pete tears off down the street. 

Ryan still feels like he can’t breathe. He wants to see Brendon very badly, all of a sudden. He quietly steps into the house and makes his way up the stairs. When Ryan steps into his room he’s surprised for a minute to find it empty and dark, Brendon is probably still over at Spencer’s. He sighs, he needs to talk to someone. Really, he needs to talk to Brendon. 

He grabs his cigarettes and creeps back down the stairs, he doesn’t want to be alone in his quiet room, he’s gotten so used to Brendon’s constant presence that he forgot how suffocating being alone is. 

He’s turning the handle on the front door when there’s a voice from behind him. 

“Where have you been?” His father says from the end of the hall, his words running together. He asks a second question, as if it’s just occurred to him, “Where are you going?” 

“I was out with a friend earlier,” Ryan says, voice level and carefully measured. “Now I’m going for a walk.” 

“A friend? What friend? That kid who’s always hanging around here, Brandon?” 

“No,” Ryan says. “Spencer,” he lies, his dad knows Spencer. Ryan’s been friends with him since they were in first grade. 

“Hm,” he says. He seems to lose interest then, and disappears into the living room. Ryan sighs, feeling tension unravel inside him. He got off easy tonight. 

Outside the air is warm and the sky is clear. He wishes Brendon still had a phone so he could call him, but without his parents paying for a cell plan he couldn’t afford it. Ryan heads to the tracks, and when he’s a safe distance from the house pulls out a cigarette and lights it. He takes a drag, feeling the frantic buzzing in his head grow slow and quiet. He breathes a pale stream of smoke into the summer air. 

Cigarette held precariously in one hand he climbs up to the spot on top of the rocks, when he gets up his eyes fall on something that make his heart stop for a moment. A dark shape, a lump on the ground about the size and shape of a body. About the size and shape of Brendon. He rushes towards him and drops to his knees, his head feeling like a black hole. He shakes Brendon’s shoulder violently. 

Brendon’s eyes fly open and he sits up abruptly. Ryan feels himself start back to life. He can breathe again. 

“What are you doing out here, Bren?” 

“Left Spencer’s and your room was dark when I got home, so I assumed you were still out,” he shrugs. 

“So you come and fucking sleep in the woods? Brendon, that’s not safe, you could’ve been murdered,” Ryan says. Brendon scoots over so he’s pressed against his side. Ryan sighs and puts an arm around him. 

“Well I wasn’t, so it’s okay,” Brendon says cheerfully. 

“You’re an idiot,” Ryan says. “Just–just be more careful, okay?” 

“It’s not a big deal, Ryan,” he says. Maybe it isn’t, Ryan’s probably overreacting. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing Brendon’s shoulder. “It’s just been a weird night.” 

“You want to talk about it?” Brendon asks softly. Ryan’s silent for a moment.

“I saw Pete, uh, the cashier from the corner store, the one with the tattoos,” he starts. “He was in the band, Gabe ditched me so he gave me a ride home. Uh, and I think he might be into me? Unless, I don’t know, I’m reading into things.” 

“Into you?” Brendon says. “Gross.” 

“You don’t think he’s kind of attractive?” Ryan asks. 

“No. He’s old, and he looks like he’s probably been to jail,” Brendon tells him. Ryan snorts. There’s a long, slow moment of silence. “So... you like him?” 

“Don’t know him really,” Ryan says. He almost likes that he felt tonight, as if he was drowning. It’s terrifying, but it’s new and exciting. The last time he’d been with someone was in ninth grade when Lisa Kline gave him a hand job in the bathroom at a house party. There’s not exactly a lot of people who are into Ryan. “It felt weird, being with him. Uncomfortable, kind of, but like also a little exciting?” 

“Oh,” Brendon says. “Okay.” He grabs Ryan’s half smoked cigarette and takes a drag, immediately he breaks off into a coughing fit. 

“Rude,” Ryan says. Brendon only smiles and takes another drag. They sit there in silence for a while, the noise of crickets thick around them. Ryan realizes that if being with Pete feels like drowning, being with Brendon is like being on safe, dry land, sun warm against his skin.

…

Gabe invites him to a party, two nights after the show. To ‘make up’ for leaving him stranded, Ryan agrees to go on the condition that he can bring Brendon. 

The party is already raging by the time they pull up in front of the house, a big, ugly McMansion set back on an enormous lawn. Ryan can hear the music from the street. He knows already that the cops are getting called at some point, but he still follows Gabe to the front door, Brendon grabs his hand and does the same.

Inside, it’s so loud and packed with people Ryan feels a familiar breathless sensation, he goes along with it, lets himself lose oxygen. Lets dark spots swim in front of his vision. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink, you want to come?” Gabe says. Ryan nods, he rarely drinks but he decides he will tonight. The three boys wander through the house in search of a kitchen or something. Eventually they stumble into one and find a cooler. Gabe hands both Brendon and Ryan a can of beer before grabbing one for himself. 

“Brendon Urie!” Some guy with a scruffy beard shouts from the door way. 

“Zack!” Brendon calls back, he leaves Ryan’s side and rushes towards the guy without any explanation. Ryan stares after them for a minute before turning back to Gabe. 

“That guy gonna be here?” He asks, snapping his beer open. 

“Huh?” Gabe asks. “Oh, Mikey! Don’t know, I hope so.” 

“Did you fuck him?” Ryan asks. Gabe sighs dramatically. 

“He’s too classy, it’s okay, I like the challenge. What about the hot bassist? Made any progress with him?” 

“Uh,” Ryan rubs the back of his neck. “He asked for my number, but he hasn’t texted or anything. I still feel a little weird about the whole thing. I don’t know.” 

“You’re just a prude, Ryan, you’ll get over it,” Gabe says. “By the way, does your boyfriend know about Mr. Hot Bassist?”

“My boyfriend?” Ryan asks, furrowing his brow. 

“Brendon,” Gabe says, rolling his eyes like it should be obvious. 

“Brendon’s not my boyfriend,” Ryan says. 

“I was kidding,” Gabe tells him. “But seriously, what’s going on with you two?” 

“It’s called friendship, Gabe, I know that’s probably a foreign concept to you,” Ryan bites out. 

“Oh fuck off,” Gabe laughs. “You guys just seem... really close.” Ryan doesn’t want to think about Brendon, about his smell or his bright eyes or his laugh or about how any of it makes him feel. His feelings about Brendon are so knotted and tangled up, he hasn’t yet begun to unravel them and he’s certainly not going to start tonight. He lets out a brittle sigh.

“It’s...” he begins. “I’ll admit that it’s complicated.” 

“Yeah,” Gabe says smugly. “Thought so. You want to talk about it?” 

“I really don’t, and especially not with you,” Ryan replies. Gabe puts a hand over his heart. 

“I’m hurt,” he says. 

“I’m sure.” Ryan mutters. They wander out of the kitchen into a crowded living room, Gabe sees a girl he knows and goes to drape himself over her. Ryan leans against the wall and sips his beer. 

“Ryan?” Someone says, he turns towards the voice and his chest tightens. It’s Pete, grinning at him. “We just keep running into each other, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Ryan says with a weak smile. 

“You promise you aren’t stalking me?” Pete asks. 

“I’m not,” Ryan assures him. Pete laughs. “Uh, I thought you were going to text me.” 

“Did you want me to?” Pete asks. Ryan feels like his entire body is a swarm of butterflies, beating their wings furiously. He shrugs. It suddenly feels like Pete is too close to him, he can feel the heat off his body. 

“Hey,” someone says, Ryan turns to see Brendon beside him, he puts an arm over Ryan’s shoulders. 

“Hi,” Ryan says. “Brendon, uh, this is Pete. Pete this is Brendon.” 

“Oh yeah,” Pete says, nodding. “I remember you.” There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence where Brendon doesn’t reply. “Uh,” Pete says, “so aren’t you two still in high school?” 

“Yep,” Brendon says. 

“What are you doing here?”

“We’ve got a friend that knows pretty much everyone in town,” Ryan explains. 

“Is this the same friend who ditched you at the show?” Pete asks.

“Ha, yeah,” he says. “You know Gabe Saporta?” 

“Kind of,” Pete says. “I know of him, at least. Hey, this party kind of sucks, you want to get out of here, Ryan?” 

“Uh,” Ryan says. 

“No,” Brendon answers for him. “He has to stay with me.” 

“Another time, then?” Pete asks. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says and nods, then impulsively. “Text me, okay?” Pete grins at him, waves and slinks off into the crowd.

“So,” Brendon says, a chill to his voice. “You like him?” 

“I don’t know, Brendon,” Ryan sighs. “Kind of. The whole thing just feels weird.” 

“Well if it doesn’t feel right you should trust your gut,” Brendon says.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ryan feels tired all of a sudden. He wishes they could go home. “It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.” Brendon nods, and follows Ryan through the crowd and out to the lawn. 

They sit down on the well manicured grass. Brendon leans against Ryan, the weight and warmth of his body is comfortable. Ryan melts into into it. 

“I don’t like parties,” Ryan says, closing his eyes. 

“Why’d you agree to come then?” Brendon asks. 

“Don’t know. Felt restless, I guess, wanted to get out and do something.” 

“Hmm,” Brendon says.

“I’m sorry.” 

“What are you apologizing for?” Brendon asks softly.

“Don’t know,” Ryan replies, lying back on the grass. Brendon follows suit, but he props his head up with his arm so he’s looking down at Ryan. The night is almost silent, the only noises are the far off sounds of traffic and the muffled music from the house. 

Ryan looks up at Brendon and smiles. Above them the sky is clear and full of stars. 

Ryan doesn’t check his phone until gets home that night, but when he does there’s a text from an unknown number waiting for him. 

hey, it’s pete, let’s meet up sometime without your annoying friend

Ryan turns it off and shoves it into his top drawer. He lets Brendon climb into bed with him and they fall asleep together.

… 

Ryan doesn’t respond to Pete’s text until a few days later while Brendon is out with Jon. He hasn’t really thought about the text since the night he got it, but now it won’t stop bothering him. 

He’s pretty sure he loses control of his hands for a minute because they seem to fly across the keyboard of their own accord. 

are you free now? 

He hits send and feels like he might throw up. Thankfully, Pete replies within minutes, giving Ryan very little time to stew in his own panicked thoughts. 

yep, i’ll come get you? 

Ryan could still back out now. He could ignore the text and block Pete’s number and never speak to him again. That’s what Brendon would tell him to do, that’s what part of him wants to do. The other part wins out. 

yeah 

His heart thuds violently. 

be there in a few xx 

Ryan goes to wait on the porch, shaded from the hot sun. It’s a week day so no ones home. He realizes that means no one will have any idea where he’s going. The thought makes his whole body feel weak. It’s not that he thinks Pete’s dangerous, it’s just that he doesn’t really know anything about him. It’s that he could be dangerous and Ryan would have no idea. 

He recognizes Pete’s car when it pulls down his street and walks hesitantly towards it. 

“Hi,” he says, peering in the rolled down passenger’s side window. 

“Hey,” Pete says. “Get in.” Ryan does and Pete smiles at him. “Where do you want to go? You hungry?” 

“Uh, kind of,” Ryan lies. His body is too wracked with anxiety to be able to feel hungry. 

“You want to go get something to eat?” Pete asks. Ryan nods, just going along with it. “How’s Burger King?” 

“That’s fine, I like burgers,” Ryan says. Pete laughs. 

“Alright,” Pete pulls away from the curb and drives off down the street. “I have to say I was a little surprised you wanted to meet up, Ryan. You’ve kinda been sending some mixed signals.” 

“Oh,” Ryan says, his brain blinking off for a second. 

“What’s going on with that friend of yours? Is he like, in love with you?” 

“Brendon? Uh, I don’t know,” Ryan says. He doesn’t want to discuss Brendon with Pete, he wants them to exist in two entirely separate universes. “Can we talk about something else?” 

“Yeah,” Pete chuckles. “I’m sorry. So what do you like, Ryan?” 

“That’s kind of a broad question,” Ryan says. “I don’t know. I like... music. I play guitar.” 

“That’s cool,” Pete says nodding. “You in a band or anything?” Ryan shakes his head. 

“No one would be able to stand me, I’m kind of a perfectionist,” he says. Pete laughs. 

“Nothing wrong with being a perfectionist,” Pete says.

The Burger King is only a few minutes away, they pull into the drive through, there’s only one car ahead of them. 

“What do you want?” Pete asks. 

“Uh, can I just get fries?” Ryan asks. 

“Yeah,” He gets them a large serving of fries and two cokes. They sit in the parking lot to eat, even though it’s oppressively hot inside Pete’s car. Ryan can only manage to eat a few fries, but he sips compulsively on his cold soda. “Hot, isn’t it?” Pete remarks. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I don’t really mind it.” 

“Mm, no I don’t either.” Ryan looks up at Pete, mouth around the straw to his drink. When he moves it off Pete swoops in to kiss him, Ryan is stays still for a moment before responding. He feels like his body is getting ready to explode. He responds hesitantly, but mostly just sits there, pliant and willing. 

“Okay,” Pete mutters. “God, so you’re like into this?” 

“Uh,” Ryan squeaks. Pete ignores him. 

“This is kind of illegal. You’re seventeen, right?” He asks. Ryan nods. “God.” He laughs and leans in to kiss Ryan again. 

When Pete drops him off in front of his house, he feels filthy and sticky with sweat. He goes to take a cold shower first thing, the water streams down his skin and he feels a little bit more human. 

Brendon gets home while he’s still in the shower and knocks on the bathroom door. 

“Ryan?” He says. 

“Be out in a second!” Ryan calls in reply. He only takes a few more seconds and then gets out of the shower, dries off and gets dressed. When he steps into his room he sees Brendon sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“I saw my family today,” Brendon tells him.

“What?” Ryan asks. “Where?” 

“Jon and I were walking down the street and we passed my mom and two of my sisters,” he explains. “My little sister look up at me, right? And I thought she was going to say hi and I smiled at her, but then my other sister gave her this look and they just kept walking. My mom didn’t even glance at me, Ryan.”

“Your family is garbage, Brendon,” Ryan says. “We’ve established that, don’t let it bother you.” 

“They’re still my family, Ryan,” Brendon says. “Maybe they treat me like shit now but it wasn’t always like that. These are the people who made me birthday cakes and took care of me when I was sick. I can’t let go so easily.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ryan says gently. “Guess I just don’t get it.” He’s never had a family like that, he was used to being treated coldly, he guesses it might be harder for someone who knew any other way of being. He sits on the bed next to Brendon and puts a hand on his back. 

“I just feel so weighed down,” Brendon tells him. “Weighed down and dirty. I want to get away from everything.” 

“Even me?” Ryan asks, nudging Brendon, it’s meant as a joke but he feels nervous waiting for the answer. 

“No, never you,” Brendon reassures him. “I want to get away together.” 

“Yeah,” Ryan says quietly. “I think I’d really like that. We can someday, maybe next summer we’ll have a car and we can drive away.”

“Where would we go?” Brendon asks. 

“Hm,” Ryan says. “How about Seattle?” 

“Doesn’t it rain a lot in Seattle?” 

“Nothing wrong with some rain,” Ryan says. “Rain is clean. Not like dusty, dry Vegas.” 

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “Okay, Seattle then. Can we go somewhere near to the ocean, too?” 

“San Francisco?” Ryan suggests. 

“Yeah,” Brendon nods. “We could sleep on the beach under the stars.” It’s a nice dream to have, Ryan thinks, as unlikely as it is. Even if they got the car, they’d have no way of affording gas money. 

“Someday we’ll get out of here,” he says. Brendon looks him straight on for a minute and then leans in and kisses him. Ryan isn’t as surprised by it as he should be. He thinks, as he brings a hand up to cup Brendon’s cheek, that this is what a kiss is supposed to feel like. Clean, holy, like bright morning light. Like Seattle rain. Ryan turns away after a minute. 

“This isn’t a good idea,” he says even though it felt like a good idea for a second there. “We shouldn’t complicate this.” He needs for things with Brendon to stay easy, stay pure. He doesn’t want to risk it. 

“Okay,” Brendon says quietly, looking at the floor. His voice sounds fragile. “I’m gonna take a walk.” 

“Brendon...” Ryan says. “I don’t want to upset you.” 

“It’s–It’s alright,” Brendon smiles weakly. “I just want a little space.” 

“Okay,” Ryan says softly. Brendon dazedly, stands up. 

He doesn’t come back until well past dark. 

…

Pete texts him a few days later, asking if he wants to come over. It takes half an hour for Ryan to decide, but in the end he agrees, in the end he always agrees. 

“Where are you going?” Brendon asks as Ryan pulls on his shoes. Things have felt dishearteningly fragile between the two of them ever since they kissed. 

“I’m gonna go to Pete’s,” he says, he can practically see Brendon stiffen. 

“Oh,” he says. “Right, have fun at your boyfriend’s.” 

“He’s not my-“ Ryan breaks off into a sigh. “I’ll see you later Brendon.”  
He’s about to leave his bedroom when Brendon calls after him. 

“Ryan?” Soft this time. Ryan turns to look at him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Be careful, alright?” 

“Don’t worry about me,” he says, smiling quietly at his friend. 

Pete is waiting for him outside, his car idling at the curb in front of Ryan’s house. 

“Hey,” Pete says. They listen to music on the way over and Pete gives an in depth analysis of every track. Ryan listens intently, he’s still undecided on whether or not he likes Pete, but he knows he likes listening to him talk about music. It’s familiar, it’s easy.

They pull into the parking lot of a big, ugly apartment block. It can’t be that old, but it already looks worn out and tired. 

“It’s not much,” Pete says. Ryan shrugs. 

They have to walk up a few dimly lit flights of stairs to get to Pete’s apartment, which isn’t much nicer than the outside of the building would suggest. There’s a tiny kitchen area with a mini fridge, a sink and a hot plate, the rest of the room is taken up by a threadbare couch and a chair that looks like it was originally lawn furniture. The floor is scuffed up laminate. 

“You want something to drink?” Pete asks, opening the fridge and peering inside. 

“Sure,” Ryan says nervously, hovering at the edge of the room. Pete hands him a beer, he cracks it open and takes a tentative sip. Pete sits down on the couch with his own drink. 

“You don’t have to just stand by the door you know,” Pete laughs, patting the space beside him on the couch. Shakily, Ryan makes his way over and sit down beside him. 

He knows it’s coming before it starts, Pete puts a hand on his neck and kisses him slowly. Ryan goes with it, it makes his body feel so tense that it might snap like a rubber band stretched too far. It makes his head feel like it’s unraveling. It’s a new feeling, and he’s not sure if it’s a good one.

Pete’s stubble scratches his face, his tongue forces it’s way into Ryan’s mouth. 

“You into this?” Pete mutters, pulling away after a second. Ryan swallows hard, nods. “You want to, uh, take it further?” 

“Uh,” Ryan says, it comes out choked off. “How?” He sounds like such a child even to his own ears and his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“You could suck me off?” Pete suggests. “If you want to?”

“Okay,” Ryan says. His whole body is buzzing. 

“Alright,” Pete says. “Get on your knees, then.” Ryan does, he kneels in front of Pete. He feels so tightly wound up that he can’t stand it, he thinks he’s going to throw up. 

The floor is hard against his bony knees, his hands are clammy with sweat. He looks up at Pete, who’s eyes are dark, who’s lips are red from kissing and parted slightly, who suddenly seems like he towers over Ryan. 

He puts a hand in Ryan’s hair and Ryan thinks he leaves his body, because suddenly he sees the scene unfolding from the eyes of an onlooker. He sees himself on the floor looking young and nervous and vulnerable, he sees Pete, looking down at him, he sees the smirk on Pete’s face. It feels wrong and misplaced and disjointed, two puzzle pieces that shouldn’t go together, but that someone has forced to fit. 

He comes back to himself in time to see Pete taking his dick out of his boxers.

“Pete, I changed my mind, I don’t want to–“ he says. Pete glares down, shakes his head and grabs a fistful of hair and yanks him forward towards his cock. Ryan cries out, brings a hand up to grab Pete’s wrist and wrestle it away. “I don’t want to.” He repeats, Pete sneers sown at him in disgust. 

“You fuckin’ tease,” he says, Ryan sees him spit and feels it hit his cheek. It slides down his face, wet and warm and Ryan wants to cry. He gets up off the ground and hurries towards the door, he runs down the stairs like someone might be chasing him. He can’t think, he doesn’t want to think. Adrenaline courses through him. 

He doesn’t have a coherent thought until he’s a ways down the sidewalk. It’s going to be a long walk home, he realizes. Pete’s spit is drying on his cheek and that makes his stomach turn. The tension in his body finally snaps hard and he bends over, clutching his stomach and dry heaving onto the hot sidewalk. 

He’s probably overreacting, it’s not like he was raped. He’s being stupid and oversensitive. Ryan takes a deep breath, stands up, brushes himself off and starts the long walk home. One foot in front of the other against the cracked pavement, past houses and shops and suburban side streets. 

When he finally turns down his streets he feels like he could collapse with relief. He’s drenched with sweat and his feet are aching. The sun is low in the bright blue sky. 

Wearily, he climbs his porch steps and opens the front door. 

“Brendon?” He calls into the house. He hears footsteps on the stairs a moment and Brendon appears at the end of the hall. 

“Hey,” he says. “How was it?” 

“I–“ he can’t begin to explain it. “Something weird happened and I feel gross now.” That’s not quite adequate, but it’s the best he can do without sounding melodramatic. Brendon’s eyes narrow.

“What did he do?” He insists furiously. 

“I was gonna give him a blow job, and then I realized I really didn’t want to, but he tried to force me? I got away, but–but he spit on my face.” Saying it to Brendon somehow makes him feel less disgusting.

“I’m going to kill him,” Brendon seethes. “Can we call the police?” 

“I don’t think he really committed a crime,” Ryan says. “Even if he did, I don’t really want to go through a whole thing.” 

“But you can’t just–“ Brendon sputters. Ryan cuts him off. 

“Brendon,” he says warningly. 

“I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” 

“It’s okay.” 

He takes a thirty minute shower and changes into clean clothing, which makes him feel a little less filthy. When he’s done, he just feels exhausted, entirely used up. He sits in bed with his beat up notebook and writes furiously for hours, it’s the only thing he knows how to do. Brendon crawls in next to him, rests his chin on Ryan’s shoulder. 

“I feel stupid.” Ryan says quietly. 

“You’re not,” Brendon assures him. Ryan sighs and goes back to writing. 

“So I feel like home to you, huh?” Brendon asks. Ryan closes his notebook and glares at Brendon. 

“Stop reading over my shoulder,” he says. “But yeah, you do.” 

“You know I love you and stuff, right?” 

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “I love you and stuff too.” 

That night, Ryan dreams of Pete and wakes up confused, his heart beating in his throat. But there’s light from a full moon coming in his bedroom window and Brendon is sleeping peacefully next to him. This is real. He breathes deep. This is safe. He’s alright.


End file.
